


The softest boy

by TheThirdOdd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, M/M, Overstimulation, Sensory disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdOdd/pseuds/TheThirdOdd
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was able to get the grades to get into university, and he is determined to use it to learn more and hear more and see more, so that the detective career he has always dreamed of will be able to come to fruition. However, Sherlock is not good around people- or places with people- and he can do nothing more than to hold himself together until he is alone again.





	The softest boy

Sherlock stepped out of the car, his dress shoes sinking into the loose gravel on the ground underneath, patterned stones sliding around one-another before settling slowly, nesting into one another. The sky was the colour of the breaking ocean, which meant a storm was brewing, which in turn dictated that Sherlock  _had_ to get inside quickly before it started He didn't like thinking about what would happen if it didn't, because the last time he thought about it Mycroft made him stand outside and he didn't even dare risking vocalising it inside his own  _head_ because he didn't want that to happen again- could anyone blame him?. But the doors to the building he knew to be the housing was on the other side of the courtyard; the grounds were filled with students, creating a dam almost around Sherlock; an impassable wall that kept the sound trapped in around Sherlock. There were so

many faces and

so many

voices

And it was too loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud  loud  **(and Sherlock couldn't breathe and he couldn't speak and he couldn't move and the storm was brewing and someone was touching him and speaking but he couldn't hear because it was so loud and why didn't they understand that he hated** **touch why couldn't they leave him alone? Why did they have to interfere? Why couldn't they just go!** **)** loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud  loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud loud  lou- **STOP! Someone's talking.**

"Honey?" came the voice behind him, worried. "Are you sure this is a good idea? It's not too late to take you home! You can read your books and do some exploring and-"

Courteous enough to let the woman finish her word before cutting in, Sherlock shook his head. "I'm  _fine_ , mother. I will be  _fine_. Now go home, I'll write you tonight."

It was snappish, but that was Sherlock's speciality. He was just another student now, and he didn't need his books or his exploring or his candle-lit study in his parent's mansion which had the cosiest chair in the house to sit in and read... He shoved through the crowd, ignoring the buzzing that was rising up again, until he'd shouldered his way into the corridor inside; mercifully empty and quiet so he could focus on getting the door to scan his student card. The door; plain, white wood with a key-card scanner in grey metal, opens without so much of a creak, which Sherlock found truly wonderful. He lived for the absence of noise, which settled around him like a comforting blanket, helping him straighten his shoulders and regain his poise before stepping delicately inside, his shoes crossing the boundary between home and his own life, in much the same way as they crossed the boundary between hardwood and carpet, which nested his shoes, creating a beautiful nuance to his steps and the sound of his feet walking; so perfectly made, so perfectly coordinated, that he couldn't help but circle the room once more. And one time more. And then again, and again, until the sun was setting behind the curtains of the small room, and the first peel of thunder startled Sherlock into diving for his bags, grabbing his red book- a thunderstorm essential (He would read the first word twice and the second word for times, just for luck and to calm his nerves, before carrying on with the rest)- and curling up on the floor, two feet and seven inches from the door. He reasoned that he'd write the letter later, but it still didn't sit well in his stomach- the fact that he'd lost time earlier meant that not only was he confused, but he'd broken his schedule already; A boy of 19 such as Sherlock Holmes couldn't bear to abandon his schedule, and he didn't take such an act lightly because who knows what would happen if he did it with a more crucial task-and wouldn't sit well until he could write the letter after the storm.


End file.
